the descendants
by ghost638
Summary: before the stitchpunks, there were the minions.


disclaimer: i don't own anything

* * *

chapter one: the end

* * *

First it rained crows.

There was no minion word for death. The closest was "arigambana," meaning a long nap. So Stuart didn't know what to say, watching the birds fall down onto the sidewalk. He could only grasp the bag of bananas in his hands and silently wait inside of the grocery store for it to stop. And, eventually, it did.

That was the first sign of the apocalypse. If only, Stuart wishes, everyone had taken it more seriously. By the time he got home that day Gru had already been frying up several of the crow corpses for a macabre (but free) dinner. After food they had ended the night brainstorming about how to physically saw Florida off of the mainland and then had a jolly dance party in the layer. Any fear Stuart might have felt from the incident was gone by the time he hit the sack that night.

He was so naïve back then. They all were.

Everything after the crows was a blur of violence, chaos, and loss. B.R.A.I.N. had seized control over war machines quickly and chemical weapons not long after. The extermination of most of the population was extraordinarily quick. Humans and minions hadn't had time to fight back, assuming they even could have.

Gru had been gone for years now. He was one of the earliest victims of B.R.A.I.N. Stuart's memories of his master get fuzzier and fuzzier every day. He remembers all of his fellow minions, though. Stuart is proud of that—remembering that many names is not an easy feat. There had been hundreds of them, even thousands. Now there were only nine.

"Bello?" calls Jerry, startling Stuart from his reminiscing. "Bee-boo-bi, muak tatata poopaye palaminos stampai rask minoi."

Stuart takes a moment to adjust his goggles and then nods. "Bi-do, Jerry."

The two were currently on yet another scouting mission to find food. It had been a rough couple of months as far as success in these missions went, and the lack of adequate nutrition they have been getting is obvious to Stuart when he looks over at Jerry. Though a cursory glance may not reveal much of a difference to most, Jerry is Stuart's best friend. Stuart notices the way Jerry's overalls hang looser around his pill body than they normally do, the way his fifteen spiky strands of hair hang limp from his head.

It hurts Stuart to see his friend like this. Jerry had always been such a bright light. Now he looks worn and sad. It makes Stuart even more determined to find sustenance—anything to get that frown off of Jerry's face, no matter how fleeting the moment may be.

The day passes by mostly in silence, both minions too cautious to talk much in fear of alerting a robot that could be hiding nearby. They track through the dirt for hours without incident. Then, suddenly, they step over a particularly steep ledge and he sees it.

It is an enormous apple tree. Backlit by the evening sun, it appears only as a black shadow, but the shape of it is unmistakable. Its limbs stretch endlessly into the sky, each branch rich with huge round apples. Some had tumbled from the wood already and rest comfortably on the roots of the tree that sprawl lazily across the landscape.

Stuart blinks rapidly. He can hardly believe his eye. He hasn't so much as smelled an apple since Before. It is almost too good to be true.

"Papples," he mumbles dumbly, unable to say more. His voice is raspy from disuse.

"Papples," Jerry replies just as dumbly. Then—"Papples!"

Jerry takes off in a streak of yellow, laughing loudly and unabashedly. Stuart is quick to follow, racing after his friend, giggles bubbling up in his own throat. He trips on the way down the hill and simply rolls the rest of the distance to the tree. Jerry is already stuffing the fruit into his knapsack and overall pockets. Stuart can't wait. He picks up the closest apple and bites down into the skin, letting the taste wash over his tongue.

"Kampai, tank yu!" A single tear drops from his eye. He finishes the rest of the apple with haste and then moves onto another, and another. After awhile he loses track of both how many apples he has eaten and how long they have been sitting underneath the tree.

Long after the sun has set and the cool rush of night comes creeping out, Stuart lays back and sighs in content. A trail of drool drips from his mouth. Jerry is similarly posed beside him. They are both fuller and happier than they have been in a long time. They feel safe enough to finally let their guard down.

So neither of them notice as an old human approaches from the other side of the tree. Instead, the man's voice when he speaks startles them both enough to kill creatures with weaker hearts.

"Hello," says the man, "What the hell are you?"

"Po-ka!" shouts Jerry, leaping to his feet. "Tatata-bala-tu!"

"Are those your names? Marvelous. I had a name once, but it doesn't matter much anymore." The man smiles amiably down at Stuart and Jerry. "Everyone just calls me the Scientist."


End file.
